


Mistakes Were Made

by Cascading_coffee



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Spark Bonds, Spark Sex, Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cascading_coffee/pseuds/Cascading_coffee
Summary: This was not romance. Nor was it a tragedy. No, this was more of a comedy with a healthy dose of sobering realism lathered liberally on top. Honestly, the humor in this comedy would be very very dry.Ultra Magnus lay across from Cyclonus, his optics on the lowest setting so that they wouldn't wake up the sleeping Decepticon.Very very very dry humor. Not a little bit bitter as well, because, let's face it, the universe was against them from the beginning.





	Mistakes Were Made

This was not romance. Nor was it a tragedy. No, this was more of a comedy with a healthy dose of sobering realism lathered liberally on top. Honestly, the humor in this comedy would be very  _ very _ dry. 

 

Ultra Magnus lay across from Cyclonus, his optics on the lowest setting so that they wouldn't wake up the sleeping Decepticon. 

 

Very very  _ very _ dry humor. Not a little bit bitter as well, because, let's face it, the universe was against them from the beginning.

 

A quick glance to his perfectly tuned internal chronometer revealed that it would still be a few joors before he was missed, and that the soldier had some time. Time for what, he didn't know for sure. Usually after interfacing someone he tried to show a bit of appreciation, or at least say thank you; he wasn't the mech to just slip off without a word.  _ Unfortunately _ .

 

How had this even happened?

 

_ Definitely a comedy, _ Ultra Magnus mused. _ Or is this just horrific? Horror..?  _ Daniel called them horror films when they defied reason and frightened you. The large mech hadn't really ever paid much attention to the differences between genres unless Rodimus was forcing him to sit with the group. 

 

The last thing Magnus could remember was sipping high grade across from his aptly dubbed  _ frenemy  _ (courtesy of Rodimus) while swapping war stories and personal ones as well. It took a little more time for his processor to fully clear of the pounding helm ache enough for him to remember how that had even happened. 

 

He had been on a routine scout mission. Sent to a nearby planet to investigate a lead on Decepticon activity. Turned out it had been nothing but Cyclonus heading for a bar, looking to get black out over energized and take a break from his insane commander. Feeling weary for his own set of reasons, Magnus had let himself indulge just a little.

 

Pfft, this is what happened when you indulge.

 

_ “I'm arresting you if you cause any trouble.” _

 

_ “Relax, Magnus. Primus knows you need a break as much as I do. _ ”

 

_ Okay so this is just the plot of a human porn video? _ Sighing, Magnus reached out to stroke Cyclonus's cheek. 

 

Almost immediately red optics peered back at blue ones, blinking once and twice before focusing with razor intensity. Cyclonus's voice was husky, and sounded less smooth and diplomatic and more crackly. “Magnus.”

 

The semi let a wave of calm acceptance neutralize the tension sparking from the purple mech's field. “Pity I don't remember a thing.” Magnus's voice was no better, in fact, it was worse. He was pretty sure his vocalizer was scorched. It'd be a tough repair to explain away if the damage required more aid than his self repair systems could handle. 

 

Cyclonus hummed his agreement thoughtfully, sliding his clawed servo up Magnus's thigh.

 

“I can still bring you in.” Even as he said it, Magnus was embarrassed to admit he was not planning on doing anything of the sort. Heck, he was already straddling Cyclonus as if his frame was being pulled along. There was no denying the mutual attraction. It wasn't romantic, or even sexual. Just comfortable. There was also no denying that they had an understanding; neither of them would expect the other to compromise their loyalties just for a hookup. This was remarkably safe.

 

_ Safe. Haven't had that in too long. _

 

“Kiss me, Magnus.” Cyclonus ordered, sighing deeply. He was relaxing; letting his guard down.

 

Ultra Magnus could have-  _ no, should have _ \- killed him. He'd be removing a powerful asset of Galvatron's and shortening the war in one fell swoop. It would be  _ so  _ easy.

 

Instead he complied, leaning down and biting silver lipplates until he could explore Cyclonus's intake with his glossa. He definitely hadn't thought he'd enjoy it so much. He'd never consciously thought of fragging the horned bastard, but here he was, kissing and fondling the mech like a seasoned lover. Which he wasn't. He hadn't done this in ages.

 

Maybe subconsciously Magnus had already stuck his fingers into sensitive vent grills and palmed sturdy plating hard enough to get rewarding grunts and moans. How long had he actually wanted to just touch another person? To hold someone? To be held? Primus only knew.

 

To the battle weary soldier it was ironic that he'd finally compromised and given into Rodimus's pleas for him to get a life, only to get that  _ life  _ with Cyclonus. It definitely wasn't what Rodimus had had in mind.

 

_ Wonder if Cyclonus thinks this is as funny as I do… Or if my sense of humor is completely jacked up. Then again, do I even have a sense of humor? _

 

\---

 

When Magnus went to have Wheeljack check his vocalizer he was given nothing but a suggestive brow wiggle, and maybe even a hopeful look?

 

Hopeful for what? For their second in command to be losing a bit of his stern grip on the rule book? Because that would not happen. He wouldn't repeat his mistake again. No, no this was definitely a one time thing. 

 

\---

 

“You've been ignoring me lately.” 

 

Ultra Magnus stiffened, face contorting into a grimace at the familiar baritone. 

 

Thrusters powered off and a powerful thud hit the ground behind him, followed by a respectfully cautious servo on his shoulder plate. “I don't just mean in an intimate way, you avoid me on the battlefield as well.”

 

Cyclonus was pretty damn observant. Of course it didn't take a genius to work out that something had changed- or better yet,  _ shifted _ . Everything had been simple before. Rodimus would go for Galvatron, Galvatron would shriek and bellow about the Autobots, the troops would clash with the Decepticon forces, and Magnus kept Cyclonus out of the sky.

 

That was how it used to be.

 

Now Magnus avoided Cyclonus like the plague, just as his mind did the opposite and obsessively turned the jet over and over; examining and processing everything it found appealing. 

 

“We're supposed to be in combat, and you want to have this conversation  _ now _ ?” Alright, that was a very petty and weak ploy.

 

Cyclonus found it just as pathetic. “Galvatron will have had his fill of energon in a moment's time, it doesn't particularly matter though, does it? It hasn't mattered in the past if we've been engaged with each other's strength. Conversation is just as good a way to keep me away from your mecha as clenched servos.”

 

Logical. Completely logical. Way to  _ fucking _ logical to argue with, so Magnus remained silent. He was tense, coils tight and ready to spring into action whenever Rodimus decided to comm him.

 

They were apart from the fighting, sheltered behind a shelf of rubble. Convenient.

 

“We are two sides of a similar coin, Magnus. We both hold the weight of our comrade's burdens in the face of immature or  _ unstable _ leadership. Seeking solace is no sin.”

 

“How very tactful of you.”

 

Cyclonus seemed taken aback by the conflicted tone of anger in the other mech's voice. He was quiet for a moment and when he spoke it was soft and hesitant. “You… regret what we did?”

 

_ No. Not exactly.  _

 

“I regret the circumstances. And the resulting guilt I feel for ignoring the circumstances.” Maybe that was too intimate to share? But he couldn't take it back now, so Magnus let the words linger in the low atmosphere of the wrecked planet.

 

“I see.”

 

“Do you.” Not a question. Just an agitated statement. He shouldn't be having a conversation. He was there to make war, not small talk. He sucked at small talk. 

 

Cyclonus took his servo off Magnus's shoulder, only to reach it under the mech's chin and turn his helm to face the jet.  “I do. You suffer confliction because you are perceiving this as dangerous to your  _ family _ .”

 

If it had been anyone else, Magnus would have decked them. Because how dare anyone say those words and infer that what they were doing was anything  _ but _ dangerous? But this was Cyclonus. 

 

Cyclonus, who had suffered so much just to make sure mecha he didn't know got enough energon. The only one who cared for the injuries and comforted those too strung out by Galvatron's backstrut breaking commands and demands. The one Decepticon who had taken what was left of Megatron's once powerful group and kept it alive against the odds, when he didn't have to. 

 

Cyclonus didn't have to be tied to the Decepticons, and yet he'd willingly gone and forced his way into the weave of their fabric.

 

He was loyal. And he understood.

 

“It could be.” Was all Magnus could say, and he denied himself the pleasure of letting his twitching servos move.

 

Cyclonus huffed out an intake, optics squinting slightly. “I won't take advantage of your respect. Nor will I take advantage of this.”

 

Not trust. Respect. Which could go hand in hand, but we're distinctly different in both their processors. 

 

Respect was also different from worship, and fear. Magnus had received a lot of both of the latter, from any potential partners. They respected him into fear and would never try to take. Never touch. Never initiate. Or all they would do was stare in awe and gawk. Neither was comfortable, and neither was something he wanted.

 

_ It's safe _ .

 

That was what he told himself. It was what he believed. It was what he had felt that morning, still hazy from being black out over energized, but not afraid of the deadly warrior lying across from him.

 

“I will-”

 

“Kill me if anything happens, I'm aware.” Cyclonus smirked wryly, almost bitterly. “I'd do the same.”

 

\---

 

Against his better judgement (which was very poor lately), Ultra Magnus had returned to meet the Decepticon at the dinghy bar. And when he'd tell himself  _ never again _ he'd ultimately find himself there again, hungry for more of this addicting comfort.

 

There was solace to be found in the routine even. They'd talk, they'd furtively sip some high grade, and then they'd slip off to a room until one of them had to leave. It was a damned near destructive cycle in the way that he couldn't escape it, but it was (in a figurative and literal way) intoxicating. Ultra Magnus enjoyed being  _ winded and dined _ to use a human phrase, and he also enjoyed the comfortable conversation in the post interface glow. The interface itself was only an added bonus.

 

Neither of them ever got completely energized, only buzzed enough to get comfortable with rolling around on a berth who's cleanliness was questionable. Really only Magnus needed that coaxing, and he felt a sting of guilt when Cyclonus mentioned casually that the thin worn berth was very comfortable. He hated to imagine what the jet slept on regularly.

 

Magnus had to admit to himself, that the guilt he felt whenever he returned from  _ scouting _ was worth it. Until of course he was getting his hips grabbed by a cheeky jet while they were supposed to be fighting. That definitely made him reevaluate his life choices. 

 

Fortunately the battle hadn't been too fierce or extended. Cyclonus had left with nothing but a wink and a furtive smirk, following a screeching Galvatron as they left to go nurse their new wounds.

 

“Another win for the Autobots!” Rodimus's voice carried across the entire base, light and young and cheerful. Such a change from the late Prime, and against all odds just what they needed. “Drinks on me, everyone. We all get a well earned break!” The Prime's words spurred shouts of agreement and a round of applause that made him grin and his engine purr contentedly.

 

“Rodimus, shouldn't we all report for a medical evaluation?” Ultra Magnus hinted quietly, trying to let the sound idea be made by the actual leader.

 

“Meh,” Rodimus shrugged, “No injuries. We're all fine.”

 

_ Patience. Patience… _ “Of course.”  _ Remember your therapy. _

 

Rodimus shot a dazzling smile at his second in command before trotting off to join Blurr and Kup.

 

While the rest of the team dispersed Ultra Magnus headed for the med bay, trying to remind himself that Rodimus's logic was, although childish, sound. No one had been hurt. That didn't excuse a soldier from making sure they were in top condition.

 

First Aid was relieved to only be performing a routing post battle evaluation, and he hummed as he worked. It wasn't a tune Magnus recognized, but it was pleasant. Cheery.

 

Did the Decepticon's have a medic?

 

Magnus endured the scans and questions patiently, offering the medic a smile when his voice was obviously frowning. He was tired. Tired because of the battle and the confliction he felt within himself. It was difficult to feel as though he was really serving his friends when he tossed flirtatious quips with the 'Con he was supposed to be fighting and worried for his foe’s health and security.

 

It was also hard to feel like himself when he didn't know how  _ he _ was supposed to feel.

 

It had been so long since he'd been anything other than a warrior.

 

First Aid put away his scanner, patting Magnus's knee. “Everything looks good, sir.” At the glare his servo got he made an apologetic squeak and snapped his arm back to his side. He made a quick notation on the computer. “I have to say though, I was a bit surprised to see that your gestation tank was active.” Aid chuckled nervously, rubbing his neck cables absentmindedly.

 

Ultra Magnus had been prepared to leave, but at those words he stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly he let out the breath he'd taken, turning to face the unconcerned medic.

 

“What?” He asked quietly, not believing what he'd just heard. It wasn't possible.

 

“Your gestation tank.” First Aid looked up, visor flashing with concern at the obviously troubled soldier. “It's… um, it's active. I detected at least three budding sparks… sir?”

 

Ultra Magnus swayed, optics wide and horrified as he resumed his seat. He definitely needed the seat. “I'd… like to see the scans.” He forced the tremble out of his voice, and counted backwards from ten.

 

Shit happened, and you had to be able to handle it. He could handle it.

 

_ I can't fucking handle this. _

 

First Aid watched the blue Autobot with obvious nervousness as he pulled up the scans displaying the active organ. Almost ignorable little pricks of spark energy floated in the tank, clumping together for company.

 

“Shit.” Ultra Magnus breathed, staring at the scan with a furious intensity. He glanced sharply at the medic, who flinched at the attention. “Seeing as I know next to nothing about carrying, could you inform me of what I should do?”

 

That was how Ultra Magnus handled it. A miniature break down and then he was back on the figurative horse. He had to be clear helmed and calm. He quietly absorbed everything First Aid told him, and when he finally left with a how-to datapad he walked quietly back to his berthroom.

 

As soon as the door closed he screamed.

 

_ A soldier had to be calm. _

 

Another scream.

 

_ A soldier could not buckle to anxiety. _

 

A very anxious yell escaped his vocalizer.

 

_ A soldier did not consort with the enemy. _

 

With haggard breaths he sat on his berth, remembering -or rather,  _ not  _ remembering- how he'd gotten stoned with a mech he'd then proceeded to frag until his vocalizer was scorched.

 

_ A soldier  _ did not _ get sparked. _

 

At least three sparks were spinning in his tank.  _ At least _ .

 

\---

 

The first order of business was to tell Rodimus. That went as expected.

 

“Sir, I have been sparked.”

 

Rodimus sprayed his energon across his desk, optics bugging out. He clapped himself on the chassis, coughing. Perhaps waiting until Rodimus had finished eating would have been a good idea, but the soldier had been eager to get it out before he succumbed to anxiety and was unable to say anything.

 

Finally composing himself Rodimus looked up at Magnus, a grin splitting across his face. “Congratulations?” 

 

“Thank you, sir.”  _ If I start crying in front of him what will he do? Probably get uncomfortable or call everyone to come see since he loves to display my rare expressions of emotion. _ That was a bitter and unwanted thought, and it only served to distress the larger mech more. 

 

“Yeah…” Rodimus nodded, standing up. “Yeah, oh my gosh. Mags, this is awesome!”

 

“Yeah.” Ultra Magnus whimpered low in his throat. “Great.”

 

Rodimus didn't seem to notice the other mech's impending panic attack. “We have to throw a party or something! A Cybertronian version of a baby shower! Remember the one for Daniel before he was born? That was so weird but I had sooo much fun. We'll all bring gifts and stuff to help you out- damn who's the sire? It's gotta be someone who's as much of a hard ass as you are- no offense...” His enthusiastic rambling cut off when he noticed that Magnus was  _ definitely not  _ whining.

 

“Sir…” Ultra Magnus cut off, taking a deep breath. “Sir, I'm  _ concerned _ .”

 

“Woah, Magnus…” Rodimus stepped around his desk. “Are you okay? Listen I didn't mean to overwhelm you.”

 

The blue mech let himself be led to a chair, where he sat down. Almost against his will his servo came to rest over where his tank would be. “I won't be able to effectively serve.” He gasped, horrified at the loss. 

 

Rodimus balked. “That's what you're worried about? Listen it's no big deal… you can take time off. I'm pretty sure you haven't taken a single vacation day since the war started.” He laughed, but fell silent when Magnus shook his head.

 

“Sir, I'm a  _ soldier _ . This shouldn't have happened.” Ultra Magnus sighed, groaning as he buried his faceplate into his servos. “Rodimus, I'm here to request that you wait till the last possible moment to remove me from active duty.”

 

The Prime frowned. “Okay… but can I ask why? I'd be jumping at the opportunity to get away from here if I had a sparkling and a conjunx.”

 

_ How clueless can you be? Primus spare him from my wrath. Show pity on this ignorant spark PLEASE. _

 

Ultra Magnus groaned again. “I have no conjunx, Rodimus. This was… this was a mistake. One I'd like to pretend never happened.” 

 

Rodimus gasped, finally getting it. He nodded profusely, snapping his fingers. “Sure thing. Last possible minute- I'll double check with First Aid when that'll be exactly and we'll work this all out. Don't sweat Mags.” 

 

His prayers had been heard. 

 

Bless the young Prime. Ultra Magnus gave the mech a look of true and honest gratitude. Rodimus could be overwhelming but he meant the best, and he always did things with his spark in the right place.

 

That didn't mean Magnus didn't want to shake him sometimes, but usually Rodimus was lucky enough to escape peril.

 

“Thank you, sir.” 

 

“It's nothing.” Rodimus grinned, looking thrilled as he got over watching Magnus nearly crumple in front of him. “But we're still having a sparkling shower.”

 

The older 'Bot frowned. “That's really not necessary.”

 

“Course it is. Besides, when was the last time one of our  _ seniors _ had a bitlet? When was the last time there was a bitlet at all?” The sound the Prime made was almost a squeal; he was a Prime though, so it couldn't have been a squeal. Just a high pitched yell of excitement. “I can't wait till it's toddling down the halls-” Another one of those not squeals escaped his vocalizer.

 

The enthusiasm was intoxicating, and it did serve to calm Magnus a bit. In the face of Rodimus's enthusiasm He was helpless but to grow more level headed just out of instinct. He would still work on dismissing the party idea, but he was grateful that Rodimus wouldn't coddle him. He needed some sense of what was normal.

 

\---

 

Nothing was normal. Normal had been lost the morning he woke up across from Cyclonus. Had anything ever been normal? 

 

Ultra Magnus purged into a bucket, grinding his denta at the waves of nausea. He could hardly enjoy the massage he was getting from a concerned First Aid. 

 

“Is he going to be alright?” Rodimus asked quietly, a look of concern staining his usually eager countenance.

 

_ No. Nothing will ever be alright  _

 

First Aid nodded, continuing to massage Magnus's neck and back. “Yes, this is normal.”

 

This was the routine that had set in three solar cycles after Ultra Magnus had told Rodimus he was sparked. And frag it all, it had lasted eight blasted cycles. Eight cycles of continuous purging and churning tanks.

 

“It's not  _ normal _ .” Ultra Magnus gagged before dry heaving over the bucket. Barely anything came out except for spittle. “It's torture and I hate it.” Venting only made the shivering racking his frame worse. He was cold. 

 

Rodimus cooed sympathetically, but he had only ever gotten this messed up after drinking too much high grade. That was well deserved pain and suffering in Magnus's opinion.

 

“It won't last long. The anti nausea medicine will kick in soon, and from what I've read your frame type adjusts quickly.” First Aid assured.

 

“Which means I won't be nauseous anymore?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Magnus grinned, stupidly excited for a time when he would be able to wake up without purging whatever pitiful amount of fuel he'd forced himself to eat the cycle before. It wouldn't take much of a reprieve to make him elated at this point.

 

“Adjusts quickly?” Rodimus snorted. “He's been like this for a while…”

 

“You should see a racer's first deca-cycle. It isn't pretty.”

 

As a racer himself, the Prime looked duly horrified.

 

Ultra Magnus only had to heave another three times before his roiling tanks calmed and he was able to lay down and enjoy the back massage. A heating pad was plastered to his abdomen, and he slowly chewed some frozen energon chips against his better judgement. 

 

“I hate to ask… but have you been getting transfluid?” First Aid continued his skilled rubbing, but his visor dimmed with concern.

 

If anyone thought that question would phase the exhausted semi they were wrong. He was too tired, and the question stemmed from a logical inquiry.

 

“How would I? I've been purging and working and purging some more. I haven't had time.” Cyclonus had contacted Magnus, but the soldier had ignored the communication asides from sending a rushed  _ too busy _ . 

 

_ Too busy and too anxious about the impending failure of a parent that is myself. _

 

Rodimus frowned. “We can find someone for you easy, and you don't have to work-”

 

“Please don't.” That effectively cut the Prime off and bought Magnus some more time to pretend everything was normal. He needed to work. He needed to be able to put on a stern face and act the part of  _ Ultra Magnus _ . “Besides, I'm not exactly the kind of mech to frag just anyone.”

 

A heavy and expectant silence followed the words.

 

_...Well damn. _

 

“So… you know who the daddy is?” Rodimus raised one brow ridge. 

 

A soft groan slipped between his clenched denta, and Ultra Magnus wished he could glare at himself. “...Yes.” There had been a time when he'd been able to keep his glossa behind his denta and not spew whatever came to mind. Lately he'd forgotten how to be that long-suffering soldier.

 

_ Retraining starts tomorrow, when I'm done digging my own grave. _

 

First Aid stiffened, field letting out a sharp pulse of anger. Of course the medic was thinking the same thing Rodimus was; why was the sire absent during Magnus's time of need?

 

The prospect of confessing his mistakes made Ultra Magnus feel cold. There was no justifying what he'd done. There was no excuse.

 

Surprisingly the comfort came from the young Prime, and not the pacifist as one would expect. “No matter who it is… we're not going anywhere. You'll always be my friend, Magnus.” He laid a servo atop the soldier's, blue optics open and honest. “Besides, how bad can it be?”

 

_ Pretty bad. _ “It's Cyclonus.” The words were whispered so quietly Ultra Magnus almost thought they wouldn't be able to hear what he'd said. 

 

Rodimus's optics widened, jaw dropping.

 

First Aid gasped softly.

 

They had definitely heard what he said.

 

The gears were turning in both their minds and the thunderous color of First Aid's visor told Magnus that if he didn't want to have his friend and lover murdered he needed to explain.

 

“I- we were over energized when it happened. I didn't even know we'd merged until First Aid told me I was sparked.” That didn't diminish the bigger question of,  _ how did you even get in close enough quarters with a Decepticon for that to happen? Comfortable enough quarters? _ It also didn't lessen the fact that he had continued to meet the jet afterwards when he did not have the excuse of intoxication.

 

Finally Rodimus seemed to have regained the use of his vocalizer. “ _ Cyclonus _ ?!” His voice dripped with disbelief. That was a delayed response if Magnus had ever seen one.

 

It was absurd that the tone the Prime used made Magnus feel defensive. Did he really want to  _ defend _ the Decepticon jet? “Yes, Rodimus, I drunkenly interfaced with Cyclonus. And when I was sober the next morning we interfaced again; I can assure you it was worth it.” Another wave of nausea had Magnus tensing and grinding his denta. “I think.”

 

_You have effectively ruined your reputation._ _They don't want to know about this. Why. Are. You. Saying. These. Things?_

 

First Aid had stopped massaging, but he picked it back up and slowly nodded. “He is attractive. I don't really know what kind of mech he is, but I'm sure he's more than he seems if he caught your optic.”

 

Rodimus continued to gawk.

 

“Thank you.” Magnus cast a grateful glance at the medic. At least someone could understand the appeal. It did take some maturity to fully comprehend the way Cyclonus was easy on the ears and eyes… And mind. Mature Rodimus did not have was the point.

 

“Oh… Okay. This is fine.” Rodimus closed his mouth, gnawing on his lower lip. “Could definitely be worse. You could have fragged the Unmaker himself- or Galvatron.”

 

That made Magnus shudder. He hated to imagine what it would be like if he was sparked by Galvatron instead. Worse yet was the idea of the warmonger having any idea of Magnus's carrying. Galvatron would not be as understanding or accepting as Rodimus; Cyclonus would be offlined.

 

“You can't tell anyone.” Ultra Magnus took Rodimus's servo, needing to make manifest how serious he was. “If Galvatron knows about Cyclonus…”

 

“It’ll stay between us. I promise.” Rodimus looked at First Aid, who nodded quickly.

 

The soldier relaxed, sighing as he let his optics close. “Thank you both. I don't want… I don't want anyone to die for this.” Specifically, he didn't want  _ Cyclonus _ to die.

 

\---

 

There are certain experiences that shape you because of their distinct impression of wrongness. The same is true for experiences that are so profoundly perfect you are left slack jawed and awestruck in their passing.

 

That was what it was like to share a spark merge with Ultra Magnus. 

 

More aplty, it was a mixture of both. As if he was biting the forbidden fruit with a drooling maw and basking in Primus's glow at the same time.

 

Cyclonus had been intrigued and shocked when the soldier bared his spark. He'd been in awe. He was both intoxicated enough to not immediately extricate himself from the position, and sober enough to remember the next morning, and for that he was equal parts guilty and grateful. His decision to drunkenly open himself up for the merge as well was not one he could recharge easy with. He could not say he'd been out of it enough to have not known what he was doing was insane.

 

Ultra Magnus was obviously beyond reason, and Cyclonus was barely coherent enough to speak let alone form sentences. They were not awake enough to give consent or ask for it.

 

Cyclonus couldn't talk but he could think. Barely. He could remember his sluggish thoughts as his frame moved too fast for him to talk down. When their coronas touched he was blown away and his protests were forgotten. It was  _ ecstasy. _ A thing he'd heard of but never experienced, one he'd never thought he would being a warrior cloned and born into war by the unmaker himself. 

 

It was holy, and intimate.

 

When Ultra Magnus woke up and clearly didn't remember any of it, the moment became  _ Cyclonus's _ little glimpse of heaven, and the jet coveted the memory. He ignored his own selfishness and tried to push past the fog of drink to remember every detail and touch. He ignored guilt, and shame, and prayed he would be forgiven for taking more than he rightly should have. 

 

Cyclonus clung to that fleeting moment of beauty and seized every chance he could to get more; because when he was beaten and broken he needed the escape. He needed to be a little selfish in order to survive.

 

\---

 

Ultra Magnus was on a mission; a mission for the good of the next generation and his own health.

 

Now that he was thinking from the position of an  _ Autobot,  _ and not from the position of a  _ friend _ , Magnus could no longer ignore the shadiness of the bar, or the sinister figures in every corner. He couldn't remember seeing the distribution of drugs when he'd been there last, and certainly hadn't noticed the quickies going on out of the bartender's line of sight. He'd visited the establishment seven times, and it had taken sparklings to open his optics.

 

The things you saw when you weren't transfixed by the mech across from you.

 

Magnus had contacted Cyclonus the first morning he didn't wake up feeling nauseous. It had been an awkward communication; he wasn't used to doing the propositioning. Usually Cyclonus contacted him and they made a loose arrangement.

 

The worst part of it was that he knew he shouldn't  _ want _ to meet the jet again. He could have found someone else to donate the necessary transfluid; that was the logical move to make. But it just felt… wrong. He had started this with the Decepticon, and it didn't feel right to exclude the mech now.

 

Ultra Magnus sat by himself in a cubby, trying to look threatening enough to keep others away but still remain low-key. It probably wouldn't have been hard if he could actually drink something. 

 

_ “No high grade,” First Aid warned, unaware that Rodimus was behind him making mock alarmed faces at what one would guess was a death sentence.  _

 

Maybe for Rodimus.

 

“You got here fast.” The smooth voice was followed by a purple frame sliding in next to Magnus.

 

The 'Bot barely looked at Cyclonus, before giving the room another unfriendly glance. “This place is filthy.”

 

“Not many bars will serve  _ my _ type.” Cyclonus sipped a small cube of high grade. “Besides, you didn't seem to mind befor-”

 

Magnus had his lips on the 'Con's before the mech could finish his sentence. It was a passionate and searing kiss, and it left both of them gasping. Magnus's fans clicked on, and Cyclonus was flushed.

 

“I'll need to get a room key then?” His deep baritone was a tad flustered, which was a tone Magnus had never heard the jet use.

 

“Good idea.” It made the sappy part of Magnus pleased that Cyclonus didn't assume there would be any interfacing involved in their meetings.

 

Cyclonus got out of the booth, blinking quickly as he walked to the bartender.

 

The cyber organic nodded curtly when he saw the jet, and produced a heavy key card which he handed over in exchange for some energon credits. They'd been there enough times now to probably be seen as regulars.

 

_ Why the hell am I so… _ Heat was building up in Magnus's chassis, and he hated to turn his fans up to a higher setting. The music was loud enough to cover it up, but he still felt conspicuous. He was definitely  _ aroused _ . Which was odd given they'd only briefly touched.

 

The ghost of a smile pulled at Cyclonus's lips when the mech gestured for the 'Bot to follow him, and the look made Magnus's engine rev for no apparent reason. 

 

They headed for the hallway that lead to the poorly lit corridor of rentable rooms. In order for them to fit side by side without touching they had to lean against the walls. Cyclonus had his back to the wall, toying with the string of beads connected to the key card. “Perhaps I misread you… were you wanting to drink first?”

 

One look at those moving lipplates had made Magnus's decision for him.

 

Ultra Magnus stepped towards Cyclonus, seizing the jet's hips and pulling them towards his own roughly. He kissed those pursed lips fiercely. He grinned at the surprised squeak that got, running his glossa between the mech's lips and stealing a furtive taste. “Let's skip the drinks this time.” He couldn't drink anymore anyways, and his valve was dripping.

 

“You're eager…” Cyclonus seemed suspicious until he felt Magnus grinding on his thigh. “You really are.”

 

“I've been thinking about you… Been thinking about this…” It wasn't a lie; he had hardly stopped thinking about the purple Decepticon. But at the moment his thoughts were more pleasant; he couldn't remember ever being so horny. Slowly Magnus ran his fingers along the jet's interface array, tracing the seams. 

 

The cycles plagued by purging and churning tanks were over, and he was eager to resume his previous addiction: Cyclonus.

 

“We haven't even made it to the room.” As if to further the jet's point a scaly bipedal passed by them, having to squeeze in the tight hallway.

 

“Who cares?” Ultra Magnus dipped his glossa back into Cyclonus's intake, biting the mech's lower lip as he pulled away. He flashed a grin at his lover, pecking the swollen and puckered lips one last time. 

 

“Who are you…?” Cyclonus was exventing heavily, and a dusting of blue stained his face.

 

Magnus smacked Cyclonus's interface array lightly, taking the room key out of the purple mech's fingers. “I am going to ride you…” His engine revved, “Until I can't walk.”

 

It didn't take any more convincing for Cyclonus to follow Magnus, and the purple mech even beat the 'Bot to slamming the other against the door. 

 

\---

 

Cyclonus groaned into Magnus's neck cables, optics shuttering as the mech's valve spasmed and tightened around his spike. His frame jerked, and he forced himself to take deep vents as he thrust with renewed vigor. His servos pulled blue thighs up around his waist, his lips finding Magnus's as their fields again sung that duet of ecstasy.

 

There was no need for words between them, but still they spoke, whispering promises of pleasure and respect. 

 

It was startling to have such a compatibility with someone he was supposed to hate. It was beautiful. No matter how many times they did this Cyclonus was still left awestruck.

 

Overload shattered through them simultaneously, the sensation pulsing between them and blowing out vocalizers. 

 

Cyclonus gasped, digging his talons into the berth and biting back a shout as Magnus's valve callipers cycled around his spike and pulled him deeper. Transfluid escaped him in hot bursts, the fluid being milked out of him by Magnus's hungry port.

 

Ultra Magnus's vocalizer had shorted out, and he wheezed fruitlessly as his peds dug into Cyclonus's back. His optics were almost white and they flickered as he arched and jerked with his overload.

 

“Beautiful display.” Never let it be said that Cyclonus was not encouraging. 

 

A husky version of  _ thanks _ escaped the soldier's intake.

 

Cyclonus let himself be rolled over onto his back, his servos resting on his friend's thighs. He was pleased but surprised that Magnus's valve continued to grip him in calm pulling motions. His optics closed, and he let out a gentle sigh of enjoyment. 

 

Ultra Magnus rested his helm on Cyclonus's chassis, grunting as he repositioned until he was comfortable. 

 

“You overloaded…” Cyclonus mused 

 

“You noticed?” Magnus ran his servos up Cyclonus's horns lazily.

 

Already sparks of arousal danced in Cyclonus's chassis, buzzing around in his core. He would never merge with Magnus again, but his spark pulsed for such an intimate gesture. “You don't exactly feel  _ sated _ .” He pulled the other mech closer, lodging his spike deeper within the lazily pulsing port.

 

“It's old coding.” Ultra Magnus prepared to get off but Cyclonus held him by his hips. “Lot's of ground based mecha had or have it. I just never had the time to get it corrected.”

 

“What is it for? I'm not complaining.” Cyclonus got the distinct impression that this was a tender subject, so he tried to tread carefully.

 

“I didn't think you were.” Even though he said that, Cyclonus could sense the stern soldier's tension.

 

If Ultra Magnus was hoping Cyclonus hadn't noticed that his original question went unanswered the Autobot would be disappointed. “Humor my curiosity.” Cyclonus dug one talon into a bundle of sensors between two of Magnus's back plates.

 

The semi moaned, grip on Cyclonus's horns tightening. “Old carrier coding.” He cursed, but not from pleasure. “Damn it, you didn't need to know that.”

 

The very implication made Cyclonus's vents hitch. He forced his servos to continue stroking calming patterns. Magnus was a tense bundle on his chassis, and Cyclonus knew that it would take very little to drive his friend away. Best to tread carefully.

 

“You have a gestation tank.” It didn't make any sense and yet at the same time it made perfect sense. Magnus was definitely the right build for it, although a bit larger than usual. Still, the decepticon couldn't think of Magnus as anything other than a soldier. 

 

Ultra Magnus huffed. “You can't have it.”

 

Cyclonus balked. “Have it? Why would I want it?”

 

The soldier sat up, giving Cyclonus a blank look. His jaw was set sternly. 

 

It took a moment for Cyclonus to make the connection. Gestation tanks were craved by war frames, even if they weren't as productive when placed in one. The number of tank worthy mecha in the Decepticon forces was very low.

 

“A gestation tank isn't required to form a sparkling.”

 

“Certainly makes it easier.” It gave more space, and more connections for potential new life. It was also a pretty solid guarantee that the carrier wouldn't lose their own life or their sparklings during the process. For the miscarriage prone war frame it was a precious chance.

 

“I have no intention of taking yours from you.” 

 

Magnus must have been given the tank in the hopes that he would spawn dozens of potential soldiers. That thought made a surge of excitement pulse through the purple mech.

 

Cyclonus had merged with Magnus. It wasn't definite but there was more than a good chance that the 'Bot was carrying several newly sparked bundles deep within his frame. The very idea of new life made Cyclonus purr; he would be a proud and supportive sire. He would protect Magnus with his life and ensure that their sparkling made it long enough to live a fulfilling eternity.

 

Cyclonus sat up, casually rubbing Magnus's waist cables. “Do you think I lack honor?”

 

“Apparently I have a precious  _ asset _ .” Magnus snarled the word, gritting his denta and looking away. He pushed Cyclonus back down by the 'Con's horns, optics flashing as he pressed their lips together. He withdrew his hips before slamming them back down. The impact left paint transfers, and had Cyclonus moaning into the kiss. “I’ve never used it. Do you have any idea how much pressure I got to get sparked?”

 

Cyclonus hummed comfortingly, letting Magnus ride him and work out his frustration. “It must be irritating.”  _ And yet I too want to see you laden with the fruit of our merging. _

 

“Finally everyone forgot, but I can never forget. I felt like I was avoiding my duties… and I wanted… But I can't even consider it, because they all need me to  _ be _ …” Ultra Magnus trailed off, field saying the rest for him. He raised himself off Cyclonus's spike, one of his servos leaving one purple horn to wrap around the lubricant slicked girth. The 'Bot's spike pressurized against Cyclonus's thigh, a not so subtle plea to demonstrate that he was not just a hapless carrier.

 

Cyclonus opened his port, hoping that the excessive scarring wouldn't have completely deprived his valve of sensation. 

 

Whispering a thank you Magnus brought his other servo down to nestle between Cyclonus's legs with it's white twin, slipping digits between the folds if the purple mech's opening. Magnus was resting his weight partially on Cyclonus's chassis and partly on his knees, the proximity of the mech's spark warming Cyclonus to the core.

 

Already lubricant leaked from Cyclonus's port, easing the gliding of Magnus's careful fingers. Transfluid beaded at the head of his spike, caught by Magnus's thumb probing at the slit. 

 

“You won't break me.” Cyclonus panted, taking Magnus's unadorned but no less beautiful spike into his servos. His processor fretted for a moment about the wisdom of depriving Magnus from the potentially necessary transfluid Cyclonus could supply, but he knew that he had to allow this. 

 

“I know I won't.” Magnus replied gruffly, pressing his spike between the gray lips of Cyclonus's valve. When spiking he was a far more gentle lover, making sure his frame proportional spike wouldn't damage anything.

 

Cyclonus could tell that Magnus wasn't used to this, and he eventually rolled them over so that he could get enough leverage to help the blue mech. Surprisingly his valve was receptive, the frequently broken and repaired callipers cycling slowly but still functioning. He found himself enjoying his port for the first time, and he moaned softly into Magnus's neck. 

 

They were both quiet other than a few moans as they finished, both unsure of the new position. 

 

Magnus shuddered, curling into Cyclonus. “I don't want to be dictated by how I was made.” He whispered the words, shuddering not just from his overload.

 

Insecure was not a word Cyclonus would use to describe Ultra Magnus until this point. The blue mech was strong and stern, unshakeable even when his Prime was offlined and the Matrix thrust upon him. Now Cyclonus was faced with a startling reality. 

 

“You are nothing less of a soldier.” Cyclonus tried to comfort his friend, stroking the blue helm and kissing his audial horns. “You are no less in my optics.”

 

Ultra Magnus grabbed at him, pulling their lips together for a chaste kiss before burying his face in Cyclonus's neck. “Who am I?”

 

That was a question Cyclonus had asked himself many times, and one he could hardly answer for himself. “Ultra Magnus.”

 

“And who is that?”

 

Cyclonus sighed softly, pulling away so that he could cup Magnus's face. He kissed those silver lips tenderly, then kissed each smooth cheek. He whispered comfort, knowing that he needed this sort of thing himself- he was a pro at being confused, and knew how to smooth over doubts better than anyone. “You're an Autobot.” Considering his own allegiances, it was difficult for him to be selfless and remind Magnus of this. 

 

Cleanser leaked out of the corners of glossy blue optics, and Magnus smothered a sob. 

 

“You're a skilled warrior.” Another kiss, right over one crying optic. “You’re my friend and my lover.”  _ Mine _ . Cyclonus kissed the other optic. 

 

“I'm confused.” Ultra Magnus wailed, the intensity of his grief taking the jet by surprise. “I don't know what I'm doing, or how I ever handled anything.”

 

“Everyone is confused at times. It will pass.” 

 

“This-  _ this _ will never go away, Cyclonus.” Magnus sobered in a flash, voice becoming hollow and completely devoid of tone or inflection. That was worse than the tears.

 

Trying to provide comfort via his field did not help when Ultra Magnus retreated further into himself. “What happened?” 

 

The blue mech looked away, optics dim. The mood swing was leaving Cyclonus reeling.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Maybe.” Magnus shrugged, blinking slowly.

 

“Maybe what?”

 

Ultra Magnus glanced at Cyclonus sharply, wary again. “Maybe I'll tell you. Later.” He pushed them up, hiding his spike in it's casing and once again boarding the very confused jet.

 

\---

 

Of course Rodimus made an announcement of Magnus's carrying. In the Prime's defense, it was meant to demonstrate that the Autobot second in command was not guilty, and had nothing to hide. Instead of being a secret, the carrying would become the best known piece of news. It would become so accepted that it wouldn't be questioned.

 

Surprisingly, the plan worked.

 

Initially the news was received with skepticism, but as more and more mecha came to confirm the announcement with Magnus personally the easier the public swallowed it.

 

It was also how Magnus ended up facing an unexpectedly thrilled Cyclonus.

 

“This is a miracle, you know?” His voice warbled just barely, but other than that is was calm ad usual. It was that lilt though, that gave Cyclonus away.

 

“Are you serious?” Ultra Magnus sat across from the jet, shuffling a deck of cards. While they could have spent their entire time together fragging, Cyclonus had insisted they not completely devolve into  _ savages _ . 

 

Cyclonus tried to act casual, but his field occasionally let out tremors of excitement, and his face kept twitching. “Sparklings are a blessing.”

 

“Did you know we merged?” There was no point in keeping the 'Con out of the loop. He clearly already knew as it was, but there was no harm in making sure.

 

This time the mech's mouth twitched down instead of up. 

 

Magnus looked at his cards, putting one down. “That's a yes.”

 

“I have no excuse.”

 

“I know you well enough to know you aren't a rapist, Cyclonus.”

 

The jet scanned his hand, drawing a card and finally passing. “Thank you.”

 

It was that simple. There was no arguing or dramatic confession. Once the matter was settled it was settled, and they went from there. An arrangement was necessary of course, and Cyclonus was more than willing to work out a loose schedule for them to meet. The jet was also willing to put himself at risk by sneaking into Autobot headquarters. 

 

There was a level of trust between them, built on that  _ similar _ but  _ slightly differing _ mutual respect, but it only went so far. Giving Cyclonus patrol schedules and the access codes to his habsuite might have seen like a small thing; the sector who's patrols he'd given out was fairly unimportant and the area too small for an assault to be organized around. Still he felt like he was betraying everything he'd known and followed since creation.

 

_ :: This is a last resort.:: _

 

First Aid was getting some scans of Magnus's tank, and he highlighted the development with enthusiasm. 

 

_ :: I'm aware. As you so eloquently put it, 'until you can't walk you won't let me into the base’.:: _ Cyclonus was obviously sore about it, but he understood.

 

Ultra Magnus watched as the sensor moved lower, looking for a stray spark that might have gotten separated from the group.  _ :: Eventually you might get to come to one of these check ups. I would have to verify with Rodimus, of course.:: _ He felt guilty in a way, to be depriving Cyclonus of more time with him. He'd felt like he had to make it up to him, even if it was with promises that might never be fulfilled.

 

_ :: I still can't imagine how he could have taken the news well. Even less can I imagine him voluntarily allowing me into a medical facility.:: _ Smart mech. Saw right through it. 

 

At this point Ultra Magnus knew the Prime well enough to not be dubious himself.  _ :: He's not going to be the one to keep a sire from his sparklings.:: _

 

“Well that settles it!” First Aid chimed, putting away his instruments and leaning against the berth across from the one Magnus sat on. “Three buds, all of them strong and healthy.”

 

_ Thank Primus there weren't more than three.  _ Nodding, Magnus relayed the information to Cyclonus. “Thank you, First Aid. You said you had something else for me.”

 

The medic nodded, stepping aside the pick up a crate of energon cubes. “These are all vitamin and mineral infused. I don't think you're lacking anything, but it can't hurt.”

 

_ :: That's amazing. Aren't you pleased?:: _ It seemed that Cyclonus was more shocked by Magnus's disinterest than Magnus was by the jet's enthusiasm.

 

_ :: I'm just happy I won't have to worry about five or six sparklings.:: _

 

_ ::Do you think there are only three because we were intoxicated? Have you asked if the high grade could have caused developmental disabilities?:: _

 

A concerned Cyclonus was endearing and annoying at the same time.  _ :: I asked and First Aid doesn't think that it will have any lasting effects- apparently I stopped drinking soon enough.:: _

 

It should have unnerved Magnus how willing he was to play conjunx with the Decepticon jet, but as time went on, like everyone else, he accepted the sparkling and truth. What choice did he have? Terminate the carrying? Not an option as far as he was concerned; he may not feel affection for the sparklings but he did feel a companionship with them. 

Everything was just too confusing. 

 

_ Vent Magnus. Let's take this one step at a time. _

 

\---

 

“Just hold the ladder and I can do it.” First Aid held a banner in his servos, several strips of tape already put on the rim of his mask for when he'd need them.

 

Magnus sighed, looking directly to his right. “Just give it to me and I'll put it up.” He had tried refusing to participate, but sitting on the medic's couch while he set up a party specifically for the soldier made Magnus feel like dirt. Besides, he was tall enough to not even need a ladder.

 

The medic's visor lit up triumphantly, and he practically shouted his thank you. 

 

The blue 'Bot spread out the  _ Bun in the Oven  _ sign, grimacing at the human term Rodimus had selected. Couldn't it have been something more standardized? Or at least less informal?

 

Noticing that First Aid was still standing behind him Magnus glanced down, feeling his stoicism crumple a bit more. “Thank you for letting Rodimus use your habsuite.”

 

The Prime had insisted on the party, and in the end he had gotten his way. The first one to offer their home as a gathering place was the medic, who's offer had been seized before Magnus could shut First Aid up.

 

“Well my place is a part of the repurposed hospital; it's bigger… and safer.” 

 

Safer than Magnus's habsuite, which was frequently visited by a certain horned jet.

 

“What is it like living where you work?” It was a stupid question, seeing as Ultra Magnus had lived at his workplace many times in his life. The majority of his life actually. He asked it to keep the conversation from getting uncomfortable.

 

The medic shrugged, letting the soldier take one of the pieces of tape off his faceplate without flinching. “It can be tiring when I get called up… but I like it.”

 

“It’s a nice place… it looks like a home.” Magnus's own rooms were sparsely furnished, and the refresher had been added only recently. He'd been using the public washracks up until then. 

 

“It's easier to convert a surgery room than an energon storage facility.” The red and white mech handed over the next piece of tape. “Why don't you move into one of the nicer habsuites? I know there are some places that opened up recently.”

 

Ultra Magnus sighed. He had explained it to Rodimus already, but he had been brief about it. “I've spent most of my life facing hardship; a cramped room is not the worst I could have. Besides, other people need homes. Maybe when the rebuilding is done.”

 

Rodimus burst into the room from the kitchen, presenting an arrangement of crystal flowers, which he placed on the table holding the food. “Perfect! Now all we need is the well wishers, and then we'll wait a few more deca-cycles and then the bitlets will be here!” He rubbed his servos together. 

 

As if on cue the buzzer began shooting off, and Rodimus was dragging the soldier away from the perfectly level banner and further into the room so that he could greet the tide of mecha and femmes.

 

_ How did Rodimus organize this? _

 

Ultra Magnus forced himself to smile as numerous friends and colleagues entered First Aid's apartment, all of them bearing gifts of some kind and immediately filing over to greet him. He did decently at accepting all of the blessings and well wishes, nodding and laughing and smiling as was appropriate. Honestly all he wanted to do was eat the rust sticks Drift had put in the kitchen. 

 

Again he had to question how and why so many people were there.

 

“So how many you packin’?” Kup didn't bother asking if he could touch Magnus's abdomen, going straight for it without permission or warning. He palpated for a second, holding up a hand to silence the soldier's objections. “You got three sparklings. A femme and two mechs… the femme is a flyer.”

 

That had Ultra Magnus forgetting his irritation at being groped. “You can tell?” He didn't sound enthusiastic on the outside, but inside he was feeling just a bit bubbly.  _ Should I feel bubbly? Is that even a feeling? Do I have a gas leak? Should I tell First Aid? Probably not. _

 

Kup snapped his fingers. “Sure can, but just to prove how confident I am… who wants to put a bet on it?”

 

That got a chorus of laughter but also stirred a debate over Kup's skills. First Aid was surprisingly the most eager to believe the older mech- aside from Rodimus, of course, who had left Magnus's side to make bets on the impromptu fortune telling.

 

Ultra Magnus watched them all, realizing that for the first time in deca-cycles he was not under any scrutiny. He made a break for the kitchen, sneaking as best he could with the extra weight. His optics brightened at the tempting tray of rust sticks.  _ Just. One. _

 

It was never just one. And it wasn't just five. And of course he couldn't stop at seven because he had wandered back out into the living room and everyone was still debating. It was only when he noticed that there were only two rust sticks left that Magnus realized he had royally screwed up. Because you can't hide thirty missing candies.

 

“I'm guessing I did something right.”

 

Ultra Magnus jumped, nearly dropping the almost empty tray. He turned to face Drift, who instead of being disappointed that his homemade confectionaries were all gone, looked pleased.

 

“I'm a black hole.” Ultra Magnus ate his thirty-first candy, only feeling a little ashamed. He still planned on eating whatever the hell that fluffy shit was that Rodimus had brought. 

 

“You have a right to be. You're feeding four now.” Drift sipped some steaming energon, looking tranquil as ever. 

 

“I've never had eight rust sticks to myself in one sitting.” And that was if the candy was equally distributed. Which it wasn't. It'd go straight to his aft. When Magnus crunched the last one away Drift beamed at him. “Those were really good.”

 

“I could tell by the empty tray.” With a flourish Drift removed a lid off of a container and revealed a small but ornate oil cake. “For you and yours.”

 

“You are enabling the worst side of me.” Magnus barely resisted as he pulled the entire thing over to him. 

 

“I couldn't agree less.”

 

\---

 

The party wasn't terrible. There were weird games; some traditional Cybertronian events and others adapted from human ones. When Rodimus cut the official _ party _ oil cake it split to reveal candied purple and blue energon chips. The colors made Magnus shift nervously but everyone took it as a femme/mech reveal for the sparklings.

 

He was tempted to be pissed at Rodimus's audacity, but that would only make everyone more suspicious. In the end it hadn't hurt anything, so it was alright.

 

The gifts ranged from more food to elaborate cradles. The majority were toys, but there were some educational items and a few novels that were obviously meant for Magnus himself. Like:  _ How to Raise a Sparkling (Singles Edition) _ . That one smarted but Ultra Magnus thanked Skylinx anyways. 

 

There was also a smutty novel from Kup, who beamed at the awkward laughter the gift received.

 

The best part was the food. Okay maybe that wasn't all… the company was good too. It helped him not feel lonely. 

 

“You'll be a wonderful carrier.” Elita gave him a fond smile, seeming to reassure him that he wasn't entirely doomed while not outright saying it. 

 

The encouragement seemed endless, and it was extremely good for Magnus to have his subconscious concerns abated.

 

The party wasn't entirely devoid of problems though. There was an underlying tone of tension running through the group that ebbed and flowed with the conversation. Notably, this tension came from the fact that at the gathering, someone very important was missing: the sire. 

 

More than once Magnus swore he heard someone implicating Rodimus, and he nearly choked every time. Even worse was when he heard talk about Kup's prediction that one of the sparkling’s would be a flyer; this struck too close to home for comfort. 

 

Aside from that the sparkling shower was a success. It left Ultra Magnus sunk into First Aid's couch with a meditating Drift, pleasantly exhausted and surprised by how at ease he felt. 

First Aid had insisted that he do all the cleaning, even when Ultra Magnus tried to help. He was currently storing all of the leftovers, and the medic had forced Rodimus to grab a broom and sweep up. 

 

“You will need Skylynx to bring all of your gifts to your habsuite.” Drift broke his meditation, opening one optic to peer at the mountain of gifts.

 

“That's a crazy amount of stuff.” Magnus sipped his daily supplement. Even with how much he'd already eaten he was only full, not bursting. He burnt through fuel fast nowadays. “They're all far too generous.”

 

“You have always been generous with your time, and you are infallibly selfless. Allow them the pride of gifting you.” Drift unfolded his legs, leaning closer to Magnus. He gestured at the blue mech's distended waist. “May I?”

 

“Why not.” Never before had Magnus been touched so much in one solar cycle by so many mecha and femmes. One more servo feeling him up would hardly be a cause for concern at this point.

 

The samurai placed his servo over the area where the tank would be, his touch light and almost dismissible. “They will be strong.” He made a few chirping noises- the kinds seekers or shuttles made to their young. 

 

Ultra Magnus shot a suspicious glare at Rodimus, who was whistling as he swept. He didn't put it past the young Prime to share the truth about Cyclonus with the samurai. Those two seemed to always share too much...

 

When a few muffled chirps responded Ultra Magnus nearly leapt off the couch.

 

His suspicions regarding Rodimus were swept away by the tiny voices coming from his tank. He grabbed his casing, optics blown wide and spark rate increasing. “They… they're… Primus, do that again.”

 

Drift repeated the noise dutifully, grinning when more muffled chirping sounded.

 

“By the Allspark…” Magnus immediately wanted Cyclonus there, to be able to enjoy this with him. He was swamped by affection for the small sparks of life that rested within him. He hadn't even seen them yet, but he cherished them.

 

In that instant he fell utterly and completely in love with his sparklings.

 

\---

 

Magnus was officially round.

 

The blue 'Bot looked at his reflection, frowning at the softness of his casing and the obvious roundness of his features. He had put on a lot of weight and most of it went to his thighs and torso. His face also had a concerning lack of chiseled edges. 

 

Physique had never really concerned Magnus until he was standing in front of a mirror and couldn't recognize the mech he saw there. He also seemed to have a permanent blush. 

 

In at most two deca-cycles he would release the sparklings, and he would be able to put himself on a strict diet and resume his exercise routine. 

 

Sighing, Ultra Magnus finished drying himself off, leaving the refresher and sitting on the edge of his berth. He wobbled, but managed to stay in a sitting position. His center of balance had been completely thrown off.

 

A pile of datapads sat by his berth, set within easy reach in case he got bored. He tilted his helm, reading the label on the datapad set at the top of the stack.

 

_ How to Raise a Sparkling (Singles Edition) _ .

 

Well, he might as well. Magnus grabbed it and powered up the datapad, ignoring the lengthy introductory note from Skylynx and skipping to the first chapter. 

 

_ Step 1: Don't blame yourself. Whether you've been abandoned by your mate or just made a poor decision, don't allow this to come between you and the joy of carrying… _

 

Magnus promptly shut the device off. Then he grabbed it again angrily and skipped ahead to the chapter labeled  _ Runaway Sire _ .

 

_ … the insecurities of the sire do not affect you, and can not drive you. You are the strong and independent carrier and do not need the confirmation of your value to come from anyone other than… _

 

Another page was skipped.

 

_ … if you feel out of place by the glaring hole by your side, it may help to seek out a temporary partner or friend to fill in the sire's duties. May those duties be to contribute transfluid or provide a supportive EM field… _

 

Ultra Magnus slowly curled into a ball on his side, tucking the datapad in front of him so he could continue reading. Rules and standards made sense; they were supposed to make sense. This could be just another mission if he treated it like one. 

 

_ … If the sire is still in your life and holding you back, be prepared to cut the proverbial cord tying him and his baggage to you... _

 

_ :: I miss you.:: _

 

The unexpected communication whispered in Magnus's audial, immediately flat lining any of the ideas he'd been considering. He looked at the page in front of him, shocked by how quickly he had considered giving up. Revolted by the datapad, Magnus threw it across the room, hearing it thud into the pile of gifts.  _ :: I need you.:: Badly. I hardly know who I am anymore. _

 

_ :: How convenient then, that I'm standing outside your door.:: _

 

Magnus wouldn't have thought he could move as fast as he did with the sparklings. He wanted to rip open the door but he forced himself to use the control panel. 

 

Cyclonus had a long black tarp wrapped around him, tucked over his wings with the hood pulled up over his horns. 

 

Magnus pulled him into the room, closing the door and locking it. When he turned he realized just what a war zone his habsuite had become. Unwrapped and wrapped presents lined one wall and most of the floor, while the three cradles took up the middle of the room. The counter was crammed with sweets and food, and the path to the refresher was strewn with blankets and towels. The berth wasn't large but it certainly wasn't small, and the floor was barely visible.

 

“Did you try constructing a barricade?” Cyclonus took off his cloak, putting it off to the side where the desk had once been. The piece of furniture was now buried in toys and books.

 

“I have a lot of well wishers.” Magnus tried to ignore his shame as he pulled his friend to the berth. He had gotten accustomed to the mess, but the purple mech stumbled trying to not step on anything. 

 

Cyclonus kissed Magnus's audial horn, one servo moving to rest on his abdomen. “How are they?”

 

“Needy.” 

 

“I meant your friends.”

 

Shrugging, Magnus tugged Cyclonus onto the berth, getting the mech to clamber atop the piles of blankets. “They're supportive. Only Rodimus and First Aid know you're the sire, still.” 

 

“That makes sense.” Cyclonus let himself be bundled under the covers, offering kisses as they were sought. “Prime seems… unusually open-minded, compared to everyone else.”

 

Ultra Magnus settled quickly, burrowing into Cyclonus's chest. It was difficult since they were the same size, but somehow they made it work. “We're going to need to frag before you leave.” 

 

“You don't want to do that now?”

 

“I just want to…” Magnus frowned, wiggling closer. He would not say he wanted to  _ cuddle. _ That was where he drew the line. “Lay here.”

 

“Do you mean  _ cuddle _ ?” Cyclonus's chuckled, curling around the blue mech and showering his helm in kisses. “I didn't take you for a cuddler.” He purred, shifting them until Magnus was comfortably sandwiched between Cyclonus and the blankets.

 

“I'm not a cuddler.” But here Ultra Magnus was, helm tucked under Cyclonus's chin while he enjoyed being cuddled. 

 

“Really? I wouldn't have been able to tell.” Laughter rumbled in Cyclonus's chassis, vibrating through Magnus. 

 

Ultra Magnus scowled, but couldn't help but wrap his arms around the purple aftcake. 

 

They dozed together, slipping in and out of recharge. Occasionally they'd steal a kiss or two, but mostly they just allowed their fields to mingle and overlap. It was more than Magnus could have hoped for. It was a lot better than senseless fragging. Of course they did interface, but that didn't take away from the unity or peace.

 

Neither of them wanted it to stop.

 

\---

 

“This looks… amusing.” Cyclonus was crouched on the floor, a box of connectable blocks held in both servos.

 

Sighing, Ultra Magnus pulled some wrapping paper over to him, stuffing it into a waste bin. “There are more of those over there…” He gestured at the now visible desk. 

 

The 'Con nodded, putting it over on the desk and grabbing another still wrapped gift. He was doing a much better job of organizing and condensing the mess. Already you could see the floor and all of the trash was being slowly recycled and thrown away.

 

“Have you read any of these?” Cyclonus held up a datapad labeled: The _ Secret to a Healthy Sparkling _ . 

 

“No.” Well, he had read the romance novel Kup had given him, but that was besides the point. 

 

The purple mech hummed. “You should. Do you mind if I…?”

 

“Take it.” One of them needed to know what they were doing. 

 

Cyclonus stored it in his subspace, grabbing another datapad. “ _ How To Keep Interfacing Interesting _ …” He smirked, showing the title to Magnus. “I'm taking this one.”

 

“Tell me if it has anything good in it.” Magnus sipped an energon cube, the minerals and supplements First Aid had spiked it with tickling his glossa.

 

In sync with their carrier's refueling the sparklings began flipping and chirping, the noise almost indistinguishable among the rustling of the working duo. Magnus glanced at the purple mech, wondering how long it would take him to notice the song.

 

It didn't take long at all.

 

“Stop.” Cyclonus laid a servo on Magnus's, cocking his helm. He squinted, tense as he listened. Slowly he looked around the room, optics narrowed to slits as he finally stared at Magnus's casing. The moment it clicked in his processor the 'Con let out a gasp, scooting closer and placing his servos on his friend's waist. “They're  _ singing _ .”

 

Ultra Magnus almost melted. He wouldn't have imagined that Cyclonus could ever look so utterly content or overjoyed. The look suited the Decepticon nicely.

 

“Magnus. They. Are.  _ Singing _ .” Cyclonus whispered, immediately trilling to the three sparks. 

 

They fell silent upon hearing their sire's voice, no doubt recognizing him. It took a moment of Cyclonus waiting with baited breath for them to trill and chirp back.

 

If Ultra Magnus could have he would have recorded the moment. He would have saved it for all posterity because it was  _ perfect. _ Seeing the mech Magnus was sure he was falling in love with so enraptured by the sparklings  _ they _ had created was a sight not comparable to any other. 

 

\---

 

Most of Magnus's check ups ended with him napping on the heated medical berth. Actually, all of them were starting to turn out that way. He had three moods; angry, hungry, or tired. There were more than three but the rest were variations of the three and didn't matter all too much.

 

The problem with falling asleep off and on is that you end up waking up to hear Rodimus complaining sheepishly about how he'd strained himself  _ on _ Drift.

 

Definitely not something Magnus needed to know but  _ okay _ .

 

“Anyways Doc, it's not big deal.” Rodimus chuckled. “It’s not like I'm actually injured.”

 

In his medbay First Aid was rarely flustered, and he just nodded and dropped the subject. 

 

There was a long period of silence during which only the clicking of machines could be heard. The blue mech was just drifting asleep when he heard Rodimus pipe up again.

 

“It's weird seeing him so tired all the time.”

 

Obviously they were talking about Magnus, and it made the mech determined to pretend he wasn't listening or even awake. He was too good at making people uncomfortable as it was, and he didn't need to get any better at it, thank you very much.

 

“Is it going to pass like the purging or is he going to sleep more and more?” It was surprising that the Prime wasn't poking the soldier with the way he whispered.

 

First Aid nodded, turning away from his itinerary. “During the final stages he'll need to rest constantly, so naturally he'll be staying in his berthroom. Unless he decides to stay here, which is always an option.”

 

Rodimus made a noise of acknowledgement.

 

“Then, with my supervision, he will release the sparklings. Usually the conjunx or sire is present as emotional support, but… since there isn't really a way for that to happen, someone Ultra Magnus trusts will stand in.”

 

At that the dozing Magnus perked up, wondering just who he could possibly choose. Primus, there were too many things for him to do. He just wanted to sleep.

 

“What's the birth like?” Rodimus leaned forward eagerly.

 

The medic was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to share his expertise. “When the sparklings have developed their base protoforms they will travel from the gestation tank up to Magnus's spark. There they will keep warm from his spark energy until the release. Less than a cycle after the ascent his plating will remove and the sparklings will just pop right out.” First Aid smiled brightly and made a popping motion with his servos.

 

The enthralled expression of the Prime had melted away into a open mouthed look of horror. “So they burst out of his chassis?”

 

“Well not exactly like that. It's more of a pop.” First Aid frowned. “Kind of like they slip out? There's a lot of embryonic fluid involved.”

 

At least Rodimus wasn't freaking out. The young leader was determined, however, to perceive the ordeal in the light of the human movie  _ Alien _ .

 

Magnus sighed, letting his field pulse softly at his stirring sparklings. They pulsed back, as they always did, flipping inside of the gestation tank and making him feel fluttery. “Please tell me the carrying won't take too much longer.” He would much rather have them where he could see them.

 

The medic had been trying to convince the stubborn Prime, and jumped when he realized his patient was awake. “Oh not long at all. You were designed to have a short carrying period. But that does bring its own, er, complications.”

 

“Complications?” Magnus opened one optic. Yes, the sooner his bitlets were out where he could watch them the better.

 

“You'll need more transfluid and you'll need it more frequently to help the sparklings develop.”

 

Rodimus blushed a light blue, but didn't make any snide remarks.

 

Ultra Magnus wished he hadn't asked. “How frequently?”

 

“It should be every solar cycle, and that would be if the sire was taking supplements to enrich his transfluid.”

 

“When should this everyday frag party begin?” Somehow when Magnus was blunt it only made everyone feel awkward. Maybe because he usually kept reserved and professional. Screw professional; he'd be professional when he wasn't napping on a heated medical berth while talking about his interfacing schedule.

 

First Aid looked at his datapad, visor flashing rapid fire. “Well,  _ technically _ … you should have been doing this already.”

 

That explained the constant state of arousal. “Why hasn't a substitute transfluid been designed yet?” He waved away any serious or joking answer. “I'll figure it out.”

 

Rodimus kicked his legs childishly, leaning towards his second in command. “There are lots of mecha who'd love to help you, Mags. I'd even do it! Just give me a draft list or-”

 

“Not gonna happen.” Ultra Magnus checked his communications, and sent a frustrated ping to Cyclonus. For extra measure he sent another one right after the first. He'd let the mech know it was serious. “I honestly don't think it would be hard to get Cyclonus to stay.”

 

“I thought you said-”

 

“He'd be defecting for the bitlets. I don't think he'd ever be on another battlefield, Rodimus.” Magnus desperately wanted to be able to fall asleep and wake up beside his mate without worrying about the time. “He believes in his cause, but he doesn't want to be separated from the sparklings.”

 

The medic and Prime shared a look, but they didn't argue.

 

“What's he even like?” Rodimus finally asked, leaning his chin in his servos.

 

“An aft.” That was not a good description. Magnus could do a lot better. “He’s studied psychology and enjoys slow burn romance novels. He's loyal. Stupidly loyal.” Realizing that he was starting to act too much like the hapless carrier missing a conjunx Magnus shook himself. “Mostly he's just stubborn. Answer your question?”

 

“Huh, and you said you were drunk when you banged.” Rodimus grinned.

 

“I was the first time.” Ultra Magnus let himself smirk at that. Drunken interfacing with Cyclonus was a waste. “And we were friends before we were interfacing…” He trailed off, paying attention to his blinking HUD.

 

_ ::Yes?:: _ The reply was tinged with frustration, but it still made the blue mech relax into the heating pads.

 

_ ::I need to interface. Now.::  _ It sounded just a bit demanding.  _ ::Please.:: _ Now he just sounded desperate instead. Great.

 

_ :: Your passcode is still the same?” _

 

Rodimus was talking but Magnus had pretended to fall asleep so that he could comm in peace. He adjusted one of the heating pads on his waist cables, scratching lightly at the bulging plating.  _ ::I haven't had any reason to change it.:: _

 

The response took longer this time.

 

_ :: I'll be there within the joor.:: _

 

Ultra Magnus purred, sinking into the berth. “First Aid… I'm going to need you to be prepared to give your strongest 'defect for the good of your future sparklings’ speech.” Ultra Magnus resisted the urge to just lay there, and sat up. 

 

“Why?” The red and white medic had perked up, and put his datapad down.

 

“Because when I'm done with Cyclonus I'm going to need you to convince him to stay.”

 

\---

 

Cyclonus was getting too good at sneaking past Autobot security. He tugged his cloak about himself tighter, making sure his recognizable color scheme and frame type was hidden.

 

The hardest part for him was not getting past security or keeping undercover. The hardest part was escaping Char without being questioned, and returning without his absence being noticed. Too often he was caught, and his excuses would run out eventually. Galvatron would not be forgiving; abusing Cyclonus without answers could only amuse him for so long. 

 

Forcing his thoughts to shift onto better things Cyclonus slipped out of the elevator and onto the lower level dedicated to habsuites. This had been the last level furnished into living quarters, and before it had been an energon storage facility. No doubt Magnus had waited till the last rooms were finished to take a suite for himself. 

 

The jet typed in the access code to the door, not expecting to be greeted by a snoozing Ultra Magnus. 

 

Smiling fondly Cyclonus crept across the once again messy floor, sliding into the berth alongside the Autobot.

 

Blue optics blinked open, still dim with recharge. “How long..?”

 

“I just arrived.” Cyclonus was disappointed that he hadn't gotten to watch Magnus sleep. He kissed the other mech, resting his servos on his waist. 

 

Ultra Magnus took a deep vent, stretching out and grimacing. He rubbed his backstrut, shifting onto his side. “I recharge too much. I tried to stay awake but-” 

 

“You need rest.” Taking over the massaging, Cyclonus maneuvered Magnus into a sitting position and into his lap. “How are they?” He worked out the kinked cables, releasing the tension with deft movements.

 

Ultra Magnus sank into him, moaning his gratitude. “They’re talkative. Right now they're still sleeping.” 

 

“Then we should seize the moment. I'm not sure I can interface if they're chirping.” It was adorable but it would be very uncomfortable.

 

“I agree.”

 

\---

 

Cyclonus kissed the bulge of Magnus's abdominal plating, petting the taut plates. “We will have beautiful sparklings.”

 

Thankfully the sparklings had waited a good long while before starting to sing, and their makers had been able to 'face in peace.

 

“Or they'll be hideous.” Magnus looked serious but his field still sung peacefully.

 

“They'll be beautiful.” Cyclonus repeated. He never wanted to leave that embrace. If he had the choice he would remain in that room until the birth of his children and beyond. But that was impossible; for now he would have to take what little he could. “You should consider allowing your friends to  _ contribute _ .” 

 

“No.” 

 

“I won't be able to give you enough transfluid, especially towards the last crucial growing stages.” It burned him to admit that allowing Magnus to be spiked by another Autobot was necessary. 

 

Ultra Magnus rubbed at his abdomen, scratching at the uncomfortably stretched mesh. “I won't do that when I know you can give me everything I'll need. You helped make these... and I don't want to bring a third party into this.” 

 

Cyclonus sucked the area where those white fingers scratched, loosening the taut mesh dutifully. “I can't meet with you any more frequently.”

 

Magnus shifted uncomfortably.

 

“I don't want you to be drained by our creations.” The image of Magnus, a starving and pained husk on a hospital berth while weak and dying sparklings writhed within the mech's barely opened chassis, came unbidden to Cyclonus's mind. 

 

“Then you have a choice.”

 

Cyclonus shut his mouth with a sullen snap. 

 

The autobot picked at the sheets. “You can either help me with this and rightfully claim them as yours-”

 

“If you are thinking of threatening your own safety just to get to me…” Cyclonus growled, betrayal poisoning the calm he had been feeling before.

 

“I'm not an idiot.” Magnus snapped, servos curling into fists. “I wouldn't risk our sparklings just to threaten you.”

 

“You can either stay or we're done.” The Autobot finished, field slowly untangling from it's mate's.

 

Cyclonus remained completely still, trying to gauge how serious Magnus was. He couldn't defect… but could he abandon the one thing he'd been craving since creation? Could he allow another mech to stand in as sire? Could he stand idly by and let that happen?

 

“I can't… I can't keep doing this. And I'm not going to split my time between two different mechs.” Ultra Magnus didn't fidget, but his field did twitch anxiously. “Rodimus has offered to help me, as a friend.”

 

The immediate desire to rip the Prime's helm off made Cyclonus growl. 

 

“He wouldn't be my first choice-”

 

“You wouldn't even make this choice unless you had to. Don't try and make it easier for me to leave you... that isn't fair to yourself.” Cyclonus sat up, still rubbing Magnus's waist cables. He was frustrated by the situation, and the choice presented to him.

 

Magnus was right; they couldn't keep going like this. The 'Bot couldn't join the Decepticons or leave the Autobots. The only one of them who could make a choice was Cyclonus.

 

“Any choice I make will be selfish. If I stay I ruin your image with your friends; if I end this I abandon you.”

 

“My image is pretty much gone as it is. I'd prefer you over my  _ Ultra Magnus _ reputation.” How much of that was Magnus and how much was carrier coding?

 

The decision was already made, but the jet was reluctant to speak the words aloud. “I will tell you my answer in the morning.”

 

“Okay.”

 

\---

 

Cyclonus was curled around Ultra Magnus, processor working away at his reluctance. He couldn't defect. He knew already that his life was the cause and he could not abandon it. So instead he would abandon the family he could have had.

 

The jet slowly untangled himself from the Autobot, keeping his claws from resting fondly on the mech's rounded casing. 

 

Right as he was about to slip off the berth he stopped. He glanced sharply at Magnus, breath hitching.

 

Small muffled chirps broke the silence, voices clambering over one another in a fight to be the loudest. One of the sparklings released a warbly trill, before breaking into loud and sharp cheeps. 

 

Cyclonus blinked, transfixed by the sounds he was hearing. The beautiful proclamation of life. They were  _ his _ sparklings.  _ His _ and he was abandoning them.

 

When the jet looked up at his friend's faceplate Magnus was watching him, blue optics dim but awake.

 

Cyclonus swallowed the lump in his intake. “I'm staying.”

 

\---

 

When Rodimus said the two argued about everything he wasn't exaggerating.

 

Which side of the room the cradles would go on; Whether or not Rodimus could be present during the birth; Was it the best option to have the birth in their habsuite; Should they move to a bigger home- all of these conversations produced either a fierce  _ debate _ or a shouting match. It depended on Magnus's mood, which swung like a pendulum.

 

Today was a better one than usual, and the carrying 'Bot didn't feel like ripping everyone's helms off.

 

Cyclonus was currently trying and succeeding at ignoring Rodimus, who was dozing off while Magnus tried to explain the steps they'd have to take to clear Cyclonus's name. Neither the Prime nor the jet was helping at all.

 

Magnus started to discuss another idea where Cyclonus did eons of community service, before abruptly cutting off.

 

Rodimus jerked, a string of drool connecting him to his servo. “Yup! Sounds great!”

 

The blue mech groaned, burying his face into Cyclonus's neck before realizing he was irritated with the jet as well and turned back away. “Neither of you seem to care about this.”

 

Cyclonus sighed, marking his spot in the book he was reading and putting the pad aside. “I do take this seriously; but I also do not plan on pretending to sympathize with the Autobots. Nor will I accept the label of a coward.”

 

Rodimus scratched his neck, looking sheepish. “I'm sure Cyclonus will be fine… he hasn't offlined anyone. We can't completely pardon him if he doesn't officially change sides but he could get off with a lighter sentence considering… the sparklings.”

 

The former 'Con huffed, but didn't argue.

 

“I'd just like for this to be figured out.” Magnus rubbed his neck, leaning back on his chair.

 

Rodimus pretended to be sympathetic, before gesturing at the Cybertronian sized chess game in front of them. “I know what would make you feel accomplished… actually moving one of your pieces.”

 

They had made it three moves in before Ultra Magnus had launched into his discussion, and it was still the blue mech's turn. He looked over the pieces quickly, before leaning closer and giving it his full attention. Maybe he did need to take it one step at a time. Or one piece at a time.

 

\---

 

The meeting dragged on with no viable end in sight, and the longer it went the further Magnus slumped. His backstrut ached, and his peds were throbbing. It was getting harder and harder for him to focus.

 

Rodimus kept glancing over at him and comming if the blue mech was alright. Every time, Magnus put on a strong front and soldered on.

 

Maybe it was so exhausting because of the topic?

 

“The reconstruction of the archives has only just started, but if we pour funds into more landing platforms we won't be able to finish our project…” Hoist gestured at the hologram of the archives, one side showing its current state and the other showing what it had once looked like.

 

Most of the mecha present had a chair to sit in, except for Magnus. He was trying to be a dutiful SIC by standing to the side of Rodimus. 

 

_ My back is killing me. _

 

A strange fluttering sensation flipped in his tanks, over and over again. He kept the grimace from his faceplate, tying to soothe the sparklings with his field before they started making noise. He had a muffler over his casing, but he didn't know how well it would work.

 

The sensation didn't ebb, instead it was steadily getting worse. 

 

“Mags… you okay?”

 

Ultra Magnus refocused, looking down at the concerned face of Rodimus Prime. The entire group of mecha assembled wore similar expressions.

 

“Sir…” The tumbling in his tanks stopped without warning, and he froze. “I think-” His chest plates cracked partially open involuntarily, just in time to release the fluid from his tank as it flushed. 

 

Out of all the humiliations Magnus had suffered this was the worst. It had to be. Nothing could top it.

 

At least his plating hadn't pulled back completely.

 

“Magnus!” Rodimus leapt from his seat, catching the blue mech as his knees buckled and his frame began shaking.

 

It was a prickling in his internals as the three sparklings traveled up to circle around his spark, and he had to keep himself from purging. Everyone was yelling, and he could hear someone ordering for a medic. All he could think about was Cyclonus.

 

Cyclonus would be pissed.

 

\---

 

“Vent Magnus, you need to vent.” First Aid ran a scanner over the mech, flitting over the shivering frame on the hospital berth.

 

Warnings popped up on the soldier's HUD, most of them about his dangerously high internal temperature. He groaned, trying to get his burning fans to spin faster. “Throw a bucket of coolant on me.” He was propped up on his knees with his elbows on the berth and helm lowered. The typical sparkling release position. He'd wanted to do it differently given how difficult the clean up was but he didn't have much of a choice now.

 

Rodimus paced beside him, nervously running his servos over his upper arms and working a bruise into his lower lip. “I shouldn't have let you work.”

 

“For once I find myself agreeing with you.” 

 

Cyclonus's voice, even if it was a threatening growl, instantly calmed Magnus. He held out a servo, which was taken by a pair of claws he knew well.

 

“Why wasn't he taken off duty sooner?” Cyclonus kissed Magnus's helm, but was snarling.

 

“I was fine.” Ultra Magnus tensed as the sparklings made their second full orbit around his spark. Every time they neared the front of his chassis he felt like opening his plating and letting them out.

 

Cyclonus's grip tightened. “Obviously you overworked yourself. Your term should have lasted a deca-cycle longer.”

 

First Aid sprayed coolant onto the blue mech, visor flashing at the steam coming from the quickly evaporating fluid. “Technically this isn't uncommon….”

 

“You! You are his physician; you should have ordered him to rest!”

 

“Frag off, he was honoring my request to be useful.” Magnus pushed the jet away, frustrated when the motion didn't even budge the former 'Con. The coolant was working wonders, and already his vision was clearer. 

 

Rodimus stepped closer but Cyclonus cast a menacing glare the Prime's way and he stopped.

 

“Stop being an aft…” More embryonic fluid spilled onto the berth, and embarrassingly enough there was a small amount of transfluid as well. He grimaced when the third orbit approached, looking at First Aid pleadingly. 

 

The medic looked at the monitor. “Give them at least two more orbits. The longer you hold them the stronger their spark energy will be.”

 

“Okay… so I hold them.” The discomfort was extreme. 

 

Cyclonus rubbed the back of Magnus's neck. “Why wasn't I notified as soon as the sparklings ascended?”

 

Magnus tensed.

 

“Well, we were kind of in a meeting when it happened.” Rodimus explained, wringing his servos. “I thought something was off but…”

 

The jet's anger was so heavy it could be tasted. “But of course… his own stubbornness would have lead everyone to believe he was doing alright.” He growled, leaning down next to his mate. “I didn't think you could be so selfish.”

 

“I was being  _ selfish _ ? I'm only in this situation because you couldn't keep your spark out of mine.” Magnus would have yelled but he was too busy gritting his denta. 

 

Cyclonus's teeth glinted when he smiled, but it was a cold and angry look. “And yet it was you who didn't arrest me in the first place.” He was whispering, careful to not let their argument be completely overheard. 

 

“I'm going to-”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

Magnus paused, resolve crumpling. “I can't fight right now.” He dimmed his optics, too tired to continue.

 

Cyclonus blinked, a flicker of shame darkening his countenance before he finally offered the comfort Magnus needed. “I'm sorry.” He murmured into the mech's audial, stroking his helm in soothing motions.

 

“I just wanted… to be useful. To be normal.” Ultra Magnus whimpered at the strain of keeping his chassis closed. 

 

“I'm not angry with you…” Cyclonus's voice was slowly calming down into a low rumble. “I understand what you wanted.”

 

First Aid slowly mounded up towels around the edges of the berth, watching the screen before finally nodding to Magnus.

 

The mech opened his plating, blinking to adjust to the sudden burst of light. He couldn't hear the sparklings, and he adjusted his position with baited breath as he waited for them to detach and seize freedom.

 

A small tug on his spark, a searing pain, and then a little bundle slipped out onto the berth. 

 

Cyclonus gasped, leaning closer, but Magnus elbowed him away as he felt another sparkling wiggling it's way free.

 

The process repeated, another bitlet tumbling onto it's sibling, only to be followed by the third. 

 

Magnus let out the vent he'd been holding, pinching the thin mesh around each of the sparklings and trying not to grimace at the fluid that drained out. He peeled off the thin layer, curling around them and letting his field mingle with their smaller ones as he gently stroked and looked them over.

 

The jet was twitching over his shoulder, wings flicking anxiously.

 

First Aid was just as flighty, trying to get a good look at the softly glowing sparklings as Magnus closed up his chassis and pulled his bitlets closer to him. 

 

“Well?” Rodimus leaned closer, optics widened with anticipation.

 

A shrill wail broke the silence, the other two sparklings soon following suit.

 

The medic relaxed, going so far as to chuckle when Magnus gave the group a startled look. “Well I guess they're fine.” Still he gently pushed Magnus away so that he could get a scan of the bundles. “Well formed protoform, and strong sparks. Can't tell if they're femmes or mecha yet… but all in due time.”

 

Finally the blue mech let Cyclonus look at them, smirking at the wide opticed expression on the jet's face.

 

“I would have expected them to just be… sparks.” Cyclonus proffered a claw, which one of the bitlets blindly grabbed for. They couldn't see yet but but they could feel the presence of their sire.

 

“It's different if you carry them, the transfluid forms the base frame as well as the other minerals and nutrients I've been supplementing in Ultra Magnus's diet. They will still need upgrades as they progress, but they'll grow themselves with proper care.”

 

Cyclonus nodded, enraptured by the three sparklings. They had stopped crying, and now just let out feeble chirps here and there. “They're sleeping in the berth with us. Throw the cradles away.” 

 

Magnus frowned. “No.”

 

“Yess…” Cyclonus smiled, tenderly petting one of the small frames.

 

Ignoring that Rodimus and First Aid were only meters away Magnus cupped Cyclonus's chin and brought their lips together. “You won't want them in the berth when I'm fragging you senseless.” 

 

The former 'Con hummed, returning the kiss with gusto. “You do have a point.” 

 

It took First Aid awkwardly coughing for them to separate and let him scan Magnus. 

 

Rodimus was staring at them, obviously not knowing whether to grin or gape. 

 

Cyclonus made a show of resting his servo on Magnus's thigh, before grudgingly moving aside so that the Prime could get a look at the bitlets.

 

“What are you going to name them?” Rodimus went straight for it, cooing at the sparklings as he more or less poked them. “Roddy is a good name, ya know?”

 

Ultra Magnus kept himself from swatting the young Prime, instead humoring the mech. “How about I consider letting you name one, as long as you promise to let Drift have a say in what you choose?”

 

“Deal.” Rodimus grinned, not looking at all disturbed by the sticky fluids everywhere or the overall wetness of everything. “They're adorable.”

 

“Yeah. I guess they are.” Ultra Magnus tried to sound noncommittal but he was very  _ very _ committed. He knew in his spark that he would suffer eternal damnation for the little bundles.

 

He also knew that he wouldn't be alone in that. It was an odd thing to have a support group, but not a bad thing. If not for First Aid, Rodimus, and Cyclonus he wouldn't have made it this far. 

 

\---

 

Cyclonus was swaddling the three sparklings, taking turns putting each of them in their cradles. He was still stoic, but a stoic mech can still kiss and smile adoringly at his bitlets.

 

Magnus laid on the berth, watching with one optic. This was their nightly ritual, and it never ceased to woo him. He could admit it to himself that he was truly madly deeply in love with the jet.

 

When the purple mech finally strode over to put himself to bed Magnus pulled him closer by his chassis, pulling their lips together as gently as he could. He was tender, trying to make up for the deca-cycles of insanity and roughness. “I'm not good at this… but I think I could get the hang of it.”

 

“I think you've gotten the hang of it.” Cyclonus was just as gentle, but he was blushing slightly.

 

Magnus wasn't a romantic. He shared that trait with  _ Ultra Magnus _ , but unlike the mech he'd been he could at the very least risk trying. “I love you.” He didn't stammer, but he did say it like he was giving out bad news.

 

Ever the more romantic between the two of them, Cyclonus pressed a passionate kiss to his partner's lips before repeating the sentiment back with that seductive tone of his.

 

When Magnus dragged the jet into the berth and the two started teasingly touching each other it didn't diminish the moment. 

 

The jet muffled his moans into the cushions, careful to not wake up the sparklings as he slowly worked them both towards overload. His claws plucked sensitive wires, and when his engine was able to quiet a bit he risked moaning into Magnus's audial.

 

The sound sent shivers down the 'Bot's spinal strut, and he tangled his glossa with his lover's. He grinned into the kiss, panting when Cyclonus pulled away to bite his neck cables. He was just about to roll them over when the door to his berthroom opened.

 

Magnus froze, optics widening with horror when he recognized a dumbfounded First Aid. “Primus no…”

 

Cyclonus had perked up when Magnus showed signs of distress, and he slowly turned his helm to look at the door. All the energon drained from his face and he groaned. 

 

“I'm sorry… I just…” The medic stared, gawking as his face glowed a darker and darker blue. 

 

Having one mech walk in on them while they were interfacing was mortifying enough, but when Rodimus poked his helm in as well Magnus pretty much shriveled up and died.

 

“Get out!” Cyclonus roared, pulling the berth sheets up hastily around them.

 

First Aid squeaked, slipping out and trying to get the door to close as quickly as he could.

 

Rodimus stared at them, a grin slowly spreading across his face. He didn't seem to be at all ashamed, but even started to lean against the door frame as he surveyed the two flustered mechs. “It’s good to know you two aren't always arguing.”

 

Cyclonus stammered out a sound that more closely resembled a gag than a 'get out’, while Ultra Magnus groaned and turned his helm away.  _ Primus, take me now. _

 

“Honestly it's so refreshing. I thought you guys just snapped at each other endlessly, but hooo boy looks like y'all are having quite a bit of-”

 

Thankfully before Cyclonus could throttle the Prime, First Aid was pulling the racer out and closing the door. 

 

The two mechs lay in awkward silence, holding each other as they tried to gauge where there relationship stood now.

 

“At least we didn't wake up the sparklings.” Cyclonus mumbled, kissing Magnus's helm. “Primus, how did I not lock the door?”

 

Ultra Magnus groaned.

 

They certainly didn't have everything figured out. Ultra Magnus was still discovering what it was to be himself and not the mech he was created to be, and Cyclonus would have to face justice and the inevitable fallout. They were going to be raising sparklings during a time of war. Their pieces were scattered- but were slowly coming together.

 

**_Fin_ **


End file.
